


A Pop of Color

by reindeerjumper



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary (2001), Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 15:19:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8213935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reindeerjumper/pseuds/reindeerjumper
Summary: Bridget makes Mark aware of his lack of variety when it comes to clothing. As always, she’s taken matters into her own hands and is pushing him out of his comfort zone.





	

“Really, Mark, you could afford to loosen up a bit,” Bridget said from her side of the couch. It was a rainy Sunday night with not much going on--as he did every Sunday, Mark popped around Bridget’s after work for dinner and to loll around her flat. She still couldn’t comprehend how he could go into the office on a Sunday, but he always had something to check or sign off on. On the rare occasion that he took the day off, they would go off on a day adventure to a museum or the countryside, but Bridget knew not to get her hopes up for those days, so she usually spent her Sundays running errands and tidying up the flat before Mark’s arrival. At first she felt like the total opposite of what she stood for--hadn’t women fought for their rights to be equals with men, instead of patiently waiting around for their man to come home everyday? As the weeks went by, though, Mark made the waiting worth her time...on more occasions than one. In fact, Bridget had come to relish their Sunday routine. There was something sexy about waiting for Mark’s arrival--usually around 4PM on the dot--and seeing where the night would take them each week.

This Sunday was a more tame one than Sundays past. Bridget had spent most of the day in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, the collar cut off so that it hung around her shoulders with a certain sexiness. Her hair was braided over her shoulder, escaped tendrils framing her make-up free face. She was now on one end of the couch, most of her body shoved into the cushions with a blanket across her body (minus the hint of creamy shoulder that peeked out from the sweatshirt). Mark, on the other hand, was in what Bridget had started to deem his “uniform”. More than once, Bridget had expressed to Mark how utterly sexy he looked in his suits--unironically in almost every shade of black imaginable--but she had now started to poke fun at the fact that she barely saw him wear anything  _ besides _ a suit. He was now sitting on the other end of the couch, suit jacket shed, oxfords off and by the door, his tie loose around his neck with the sleeves of his crisp, white shirt rolled up. Her feet were in his lap, and he was absentmindedly giving her arches an affectionate squeeze.

“What do you mean?” he asked, shooting her a sideways glance. “I’m just saying, when is the last time you wore something besides a suit? It’s Sunday for crying out loud...don’t you want to relax a little? Let your hair down? Wear pants that have an elastic waistband instead of a belt?” Clearly she had been thinking about this for a while--Bridget rattled off her points with practiced accuracy, which only happened when she had a plan of attack. Mark tried to not take immediate offense to her statement. He glanced down at himself...and if he was to be really honest with himself, he  _ couldn’t  _ remember the last time he wore something besides a suit. After his nightly shower, he usually collapsed into bed wearing only a pair of boxers and maybe an undershirt. Once morning hit, the whole process repeated itself. Without lifting his head entirely, he glanced at Bridget out of the corner of his eye and said, “Fine, maybe you have a point.” Even out of the corner of his eye, he saw the grin sweep across her face. “I absolutely have a point,” she shot back, a hint of playfulness in her voice.

The next thing Mark knew, her feet were out of his lap and padding across the living room floor. “Bridget?” he called after her. “Where are you going?” “You’ll see in a second!” she called back from her bedroom. Mark looked back down at himself, absentmindedly fidgeting with his tie and the buttons on his shirt. He was suddenly very self-conscious about his clothes and didn’t know how to deal with it. Besides the sporadic brightly colored tie in his closet--and don’t get him started on the reindeer jumper--most of his clothes  _ were _ black, gray or blue. He had never thought of it as an issue before, but now that Bridget brought it up, he couldn’t stop mentally inventorying the suits, shirts, and ties that lined his closet.  _ 7 suits (4 black, 2 gray and 1 blue), approximately 15 shirts (mostly white with the occasional blue), numerous ties (but, let’s face it, mostly black or gray). Crikey. _ His thoughts were interrupted when he saw Bridget emerge from the bedroom again. In her hand was a shopping bag, and on her face was a guilty smile.

“So, clearly I’ve been thinking a lot lately about you coming over here on Sundays. It’s slowly becoming one of my favorite days of the week, mostly because you pop in, but I’ve got to be honest Mark...on nights like this, I just want to cuddle. Which leads me to my next point--as sexy as your suits are, they’re just not  _ comfortable _ . The buttons on your shirts poke me in the eye and your belt buckle is awkward to lay an arm across. Besides, a pair of trackie bottoms are  _ much _ easier to dispose of if the occasion arises.” At this last part, Bridget gave him a wink, which caused Mark to awkwardly clear his throat. Here he was making mental note of his wardrobe like some fashion-obsessed cousin of Rain Man, and she was already planning their next shag. “I see your point,” he replied. “What’s in the bag?” The smile on her face grew as she said, “I’m glad you asked. While I was running errands today, I popped into the store to pick you up some clothes. You don’t have to go out in public in them...they can stay here. I even cleared out the bottom drawer of my dresser for you to use. It’s entirely yours, and you can bring over anything you want to keep here for nights you stay over. But this bag stays here, for nights I feel like cuddling.” 

With her declaration clearly behind her, Bridget thrust the bag in his direction. Hesitantly, Mark leaned forward and gingerly took it from her hands. He still hadn’t broken eye contact with her, even as he opened the bag in front of him. “Trust me,” she said, and settled herself back down on the couch. Inside were two pairs of black Adidas track bottoms, and three or four t-shirts in various muted colors. Mark looked up from the bag and over at Bridget. Clearly the candor she had spoken so boldly with a few minutes ago was fading as she watched for his reaction. “Do you like them?” she asked meekly. “I tried to keep them in a color scheme I knew you liked. I just figured after working 7 days a week, you’d want to be more comfortable. Besides, your bottom will look divine in those trackie bottoms.” At this, Mark smirked.  _ Amazing how she can make me feel absolutely mad and absolutely adored in the same instance _ , he thought to himself. “This is incredibly thoughtful of you, Bridget. Thank you. You were spot on with the color choices,” he said, giving her a smirk. Relief flooded her face as she said, “Oh, thank goodness. I’m so glad you’re not mad.”

Standing up, Mark looked down at her curled up form and said, “Would you like me to change?” Bridget couldn’t seem to help the smile on her face as she nodded. “Anything for you, my love,” was Mark’s response, and he made his way into the bedroom. He undressed out of his work clothes (making sure to neatly fold and stack them at the foot of Bridget’s bed), and pulled the Adidas bottoms on over his boxers. Not wanting to admit it, Mark  _ did _ feel more relaxed. He pulled a charcoal colored t-shirt out of the bag next and pulled it over his head, making sure to run a hand through his hair afterward. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror Bridget kept in the corner of her bedroom. He had to admit, he almost didn’t recognize himself.  _ I can’t lie, though, I don’t hate it _ , he thought, taking one last quick glance at his reflection. Mark took special care to take the other pair of pants and the three remaining shirts out of the bag and to fold them neatly. Bridget actually  _ had _ emptied the bottom drawer of her dresser, much to his surprise, and he carefully laid his new clothes inside.

When he walked back out into the living room, he noticed that Bridget had lit some candles throughout the flat and music was playing quietly in the background. She was still in the spot where he had left her, despite all of the small touches she had quickly thrown together while he changed. Mark held his hands out at his sides, giving a quick spin in front of Bridget. “Well, what do you think?” he asked, dropping his arms back down. “Mmm, you look delicious,” was Bridget’s reply. The candlelight threw flickering shadows across her face, and the sparkle in her eyes made his heartbeat quicken. “I’m glad,” he said with a husky tone to his voice that was unintended. Bridget smiled as she patted the cushion next to her. “Plenty of room...and now it won’t feel awkward to have you under the blanket with me,” she said with an impish grin. Mark shook his head, trying to swallow the laugh that was in his throat.  _ Maddening in the best way possible _ , he thought as he sunk down next to her. Bridget threw half of the blanket across him, and the next thing Mark knew, she was completely nestled underneath his arm, embracing him across his midsection with her head on his shoulder.

The rain whipped outside of the window of Bridget’s flat, mixed with the quiet crescendo of a refrain from the speaker. “Isn’t this so much better?” she murmured, snuggling against him. As if he wasn’t convinced already, Mark  _ was _ amazed at how much more relaxed he felt. He kissed the top of her head and ran a thumb over the skin of her bare shoulder. “Very rarely are you wrong about these types of things,” he replied. “If there’s one thing you know, it’s how to get me out of my shell.”

 

“My little turtle...not to mention how amazing your arms look in that shirt. I forgot what they looked like without a sleeve rolled up over them.”

 

“Bridget, you’ve seen my arms plenty.”

 

“But the way that cotton is clinging to them...it’s making me weak in the knees. And don’t even get me started on that glorious bottom of yours.”

 

“You  _ are _ rather fond of my bottom.”

 

“Who wouldn’t be? My friends tell me all the time how lucky I am to have such an amazing boyfriend with such an amazing bum...especially Tom.” At this, Mark couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re too much,” he said, squeezing her tightly. A few minutes passed as they listened to the rain outside mingle with the music. Mark felt himself starting to doze off, not being used to the tension of his muscles disappearing. He was jarred awake, though, when he felt Bridget’s hand slide underneath the cotton of his t-shirt and across his stomach, up his torso, and land on his nipple, where she gave a playful squeeze. “What the bloody he--” he began, giving a small jump. “Sorry,” she said. “I just kept thinking about how good you look in that t-shirt and I couldn’t help myself.” She still had her arm draped across his torso, and her mouth went from devilish smirk to a surprised “O”. “Oh, Mr. Darcy...it seems that you can’t help yourself either.” Bridget’s gaze traveled from Mark’s face down to his lap, where the evidence stood that he clearly enjoyed Bridget’s little nipple tweak.  _ Bloody hell _ , he thought to himself.  _ Suit trousers never give me away like this. _ He once again cleared his throat, shifting his weight a little while he tried to figure out how to handle himself. 

“Stop being so bloody awkward,” she growled in his ear. Before he could respond, her mouth was hungrily on his, the tip of her tongue playing with his upper lip. Bridget lifted herself up and swung a leg over his lap, settling herself on top of him. The candlelight was still throwing flickering shadows around the living room, and it made the slope of her bare shoulders even more desirable than before. He found himself putting his hands on her hips as she raked her fingers through his hair. The kiss broke away for a split second, and Mark sputtered, “Fuck, Bridget.” The grin spread across her face again and she leaned forward. The tips of their noses were touching, her mouth only a few centimeters away from his. He could feel her breath, slightly ragged from the snog session she sprung on him. The trackie bottoms were doing nothing to conceal his ambitions, and Bridget sitting on top of him was  _ not _ helping. “What do you say we take this to the bedroom?” she whispered, kissing him on the curved part of his ear. Mark closed his eyes in bliss, letting his head roll back on the couch with a small groan. “Mmm, let’s,” he responded.

Quick as a flash, he scooped Bridget up in his arms, enjoying the squeal she emitted at the surprise. He kicked the bedroom door open with his foot, kicking a pair of shoes out of the way as he entered. Bridget’s body was now vibrating with giggles as she clearly enjoyed Mark’s spontaneous participation in her teasing. He gently dropped her on the bed and stood before her. “As much as I love the present, darling, I think it’s time to get rid of it,” he growled. She lay on her side, an arm propping her head up as the other hand worked to get the braid out of her hair. As Mark pulled the trackie bottoms off, Bridget worked the last loop of her braid out and her hair spilled around her shoulders in candlelit, golden glimmers. They both clearly liked what they saw, because they were on each other with a quick ferocity. “If I had known that trackie bottoms and a t-shirt would get you this turned on, I would have bought them myself,” Mark murmured in her ear as he pulled her leggings off. Her only response was a ravenous kiss, her legs encircling his hips and her hands pulling her towards her…

 

Once all was said and done, the two of them lay in Bridget’s bed. Bridget was sprawled against him, her hair in a sheet across his shoulder and chest. “Mr. Darcy...that was  _ wonderful _ ,” she sighed, playing with a tendril of her hair absentmindedly. He kissed the top of her head, a smile firmly planted on his face. “Agreed,” he replied. “Much more colorful than I’m used to.” At this statement, Bridget let out a hearty guffaw, which in turn made Mark laugh aloud with her. The two burrowed back into the pillows, slow-dying giggles serenading them to sleep…

 

The end.


End file.
